


I need you

by IcyHotCoffee



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: After the Island (Lord of the Flies), Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Daddy Issues, Death, Depression, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gay, Gore, Graphic Description, Grief, LGBT, Language, Lord of the Flies References, M/M, Mild Language, Nightmares, Orphanage, Orphans, POV Jack Merridew, PTSD, Pining, Post-Lord of the Flies, Romance, Self Harm, Smut, The movie proves my point, Trauma, Two Years Later, Violence, Why did I actually end up liking this book, bereavement, mlm, the tension is unreal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyHotCoffee/pseuds/IcyHotCoffee
Summary: (This is my first story!! Sorry for the plot not being great I just wanted to write some fanon for Jack and Ralph- please tell me what you think)This is set 2 years after the boys have been rescued from the island. The war is over. Jack and Ralph are 15/16. They live in an orphanage. Ralph has been grieving but has been doing significantly better, Jack has been in denial, bearing the weight of knowing he killed people and has developed anxiety and depression. Roger is still the same sadist he always was and continues to stay with Jack and be a bad influence but Jack wants to be with Ralph. He starts to feel things that he doesn't think are normal and it adds on to his anxiety and depression. Look at how the boy's have grown and how their story will turn out.
Relationships: Jack & Ralph, Jack & Roger, Jack / Ralph, Jack / Roger, Jack Merridew & Ralph, Jack Merridew & Roger, Jack Merridew/Ralph, Jack Merridew/Roger
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Childish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only sound in the silence of that night was Jack's quiet sniffles as he tried to wipe away the tears. Childish, he thought.

**Prologue (The rescue)**

The ship rocked slightly as the cluster of painted, exhausted boys lay in a heap. The littluns had fallen asleep and some of the biguns had also dozed off. Sam n Eric had accidentally bumped into Jack and had winced in unison then scurried away to the stern of the boat where the littluns were. He had assumed Ralph was there too, he didn't want to see Ralph right now. The tribe had been running around the burning island trying to hunt the outlaw, Ralph. When they had found him, bruised and battered, he had been talking to an officer. Jack could quite believe his eyes when he saw the adult and thought that the heat was playing tricks on him. He was tall, his clothes filled out with solid muscle under them, and he had a sort of carefree smile that meant he thought Ralph was being childish and he was superior.

"Who's boss here?" the naval officer had asked.

"I am," Ralph had said loudly.

Jack’s blood boiled at the thought of how ignorant adults were and he thought of going up to the officer and stabbing him with the spear in his splintering hand just to prove who’s really boss. He caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle near his feet and terminated the thought. He looked skinny and tired. Then he saw the guns at the officer’s belt, how had he expected to win when the officer had better experience, better stamina and better weapons?

"I should have thought that a pack of British boys―you're all British, aren't you?―would have been able to put up a better show than that―I mean―" The naval officer sounded disappointed and Jack was immediately embarrassed. Just now he had been planning to challenge a high ranking officer and secure the title of chief but the officer was right. There was a lot they could have done to put up a better show than that. He was reminded of his former self: disciplined and civilised. If he had gone up to the officer in that state then perhaps he would have been respected but now...he looked at the paint that covered his naked body, washed away in places by sweat or scratched off by branches during the hunt, he was a savage.

He stepped back and allowed Ralph to handle the situation. He was being cowardly, he knew, but he didn’t know what else to do. It would be easier if Ralph became Chief for a while, he always knew what to say. Jack could hear Ralph giving fragmented details about the island, not accurate but enough for the officer to understand the situation. Then Jack watched as Ralph broke into tears, the other boys following his lead and finally accepting the overwhelming emotions that had been kept inside them for this long. How long had it even been? Jack had lost track of time. It could have been a few weeks, or a few months and for all he knew, he could be a teenager now. Something in his heart twisted as he watched the other boys come to their senses too. Guilt? Sympathy? Disgust? He didn’t know. He threw down his spear and turned away from the sobbing mess of boys, fighting the urge to break into tears himself.

“They weren’t real men” he reminded himself, “Just little boys”.

He saw the naval officer shift uncomfortably, regretting his choice of words and struggling for words of consolation, eventually settling on silence as the best option and leaving the boys a few moments to collect themselves. He should have known it would take a lot longer than that to regain a balanced mentality after the events they had witnessed and/or taken part in.

Jack had caught sight of Roger hiding in the shadows, his face was neutral but Jack almost thought he had seen anger in it. He didn’t have time to think about it because the naval officer had started taking names and was boarding the boys onto the huge white hunk of a ship that they had all thought they would never see again.

Jack looked towards the horizon, standing on the bow of that very ship. Roger was nowhere to be seen. He had to admit, he was afraid of Roger. Well less afraid and more anxious when he was around, he was intimidated by him. He knew that if he wanted to then he could easily take the title of 'Chief' from Jack just as easily as Jack had done from Ralph. Jack was respected and could hunt but Roger had more stamina and blood thirstiness than any of them, he kill-, he took out Piggy in cold blood and without hesitation purely because he was interrupting a fight between Ralph and Jack that hadn't even involved Roger or Piggy. His desire for violence was like an addiction, if anyone stopped him from getting it then he would remove them from his path without a second thought. It made Jack's hair stand on edge every time he thought of the fact that Roger could silently take his knife and slit Jack’s throat before he had the chance to blink. Of course when he was around Roger he made sure to assert dominance and hide what he truly felt because while he was still loyal to Jack and the tribe right now, it wouldn't be difficult for him to turn and take the others under his command, even if it was by force.

Perhaps Jack should consider acting for a career when he returned to London, he had done a good job of it when he acted like he wasn’t jealous of the way Ralph protected Piggy, when he acted as if he didn’t feel incompetent next to Ralph’s leadership, when he envied the fear Roger had instilled in everyone. He had done a good job. Then again Hunting would be a fine profession for someone like him, he had experience and all he had to do now was learn to use a gun, then he could even join the army and build himself a good reputation. Jack smiled to himself, it had been a while since thoughts as carefree and normal as these had come to him. He looked towards the horizon again and tapped his finger gently on the boat railing. What would they do now?

* * *

**2 years later (Present day)**

Jack tugged on his collar, he still hated the cold weather of London and the dense polluted air suffocated him. The grey towering buildings, the monotonous metallic grinding of gears, making him miss the greens, blues and yellows of the island. He quickened his pace as he made his way back to the orphanage where the rescued boys had been taken. The younger boys had arrived earlier from their school and older ones were piling in one at a time. Jack still hadn’t bothered learning all their names, it didn't matter.

Many of the boys had been identified by their families and taken home, Roger had escaped and been caught again, Ralph was helping around the orphanage and was basically a big brother / father figure to the other boys now. They were the only three biguns left of their little island rescue group. All was good, Ralph's health had certainly gotten better over the past two years: Initially he had just stayed in a corner staring quietly at a wall for hours and had to physically be led around the house and even then his eyes would remain fixated on the floor. He had refused to eat and became bedridden for a while after catching a nasty fever. After he had recovered, Jack had gone to see him while he was asleep, he was skinny and pale, his blonde hair was thin and his cheeks hollow. Jack’s stomach had turned when he saw Ralph’s state and he had made sure to get better at cooking. He didn’t do it for Ralph but for himself, Ralph had simply motivated him to work harder. He knew that Ralph cringed at the idea of men cooking, he thought it was for girls but there were no girls here and someone had to feed everyone. Though he didn’t want to believe it, Jack had the island to thank for teaching him how to cook and provide for himself and others. Cooking was one of the few things that had allowed him to ease his worries, every ingredient and measurement had to be precise and it took a lot of his concentration so he was always distracted from his thoughts. At least, until Ralph decided to enter the kitchen. He had never insulted Jack’s cooking, rather he had always eated it silently without comment. Ralph’s ungratefulness infuriated Jack to the point where he would rather have him spit out his food and flip the table than remain silent and eat it. Jack would rather have an honest opinion than watch a silent endurace.

Even after two years, Ralph refused to look at Jack with those eyes. Those sad blue eyes that had once sparkled as brightly as the lagoon. Those empty eyes that had once as much life in them as was contained in the vast ocean. He strained to hear that voice call out his name once more. The voice that had been silenced by bereavement for a boy that had never mattered. He would act jovial in front of all the other boys: playing with them, reading to them, even helping with homework. Ralph had tried to cook for them before but all the boys loved Jack’s cooking best, everyone would eat well when he cooked but Ralph would always make excuses and go off somewhere. It would always hurt Jack a little when Ralph didn’t eat his food. He assumed it was his pride.

Once again, Jack was cooking today. The boys had gathered in the dining room and were chatting away loudly about their day at school. Jack could hear Ralph talking and laughing amongst them and telling them stories about Mr Lotf from school that made everyone erupt into laughter. When Jack rang the dinner bell, the odd dozen or so boys rushed to make a crooked line outside the kitchen. Ralph at the back as usual, herding the younger boys, not sparing a glance at Jack as he served the ham sandwiches and sausage rolls to each of the boys. It had become a habit for Jack’s face to go sour when Ralph came around and for Ralph to ignore him.

He didn’t want to act like this around Ralph, but he didn’t want Ralph to know he was getting to him either. The worst part was that he knew he deserved this. He brought it upon himself: he was the one that became savage, he was the one that let Ralph take all the blame, he was the one that tried to- to kill Ralph. Guilt stabbed Jack in the chest again. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t. He refused to believe it. Childishly he looked around for someone to blame and his eyes landed on Roger. Yes, Roger was to blame, he was the one that dropped the boulder and kill- hurt Piggy. That was the reason Ralph had spiraled into his thoughts for a while, that was the reason he refused to talk to Jack, because he thought it was his fault not Roger's so he was taking out his anger on Jack. Yes, Jack did nothing wrong, it was all fun and games, just a game that went a bit wrong, he was never _really_ going to hurt Ralph or Piggy or Simon. It was an accident.

Jack’s finger tapped rhythmically on his leg to calm his nerves, a secret habit he had retained since his father… Jack shook his head and tried to ignore the thought, nothing good was going to come from thinking of that wretched man. Regardless his finger tapped faster under the table, Ralph seemed to notice and shot Jack an irritated glance that none of the other boys would notice. Jack stared back in an equally irritated manner just slightly less subtle. Roger kicked him but pretended not to, hiding a sly grin that was only visible to him, clearly he thought Jack was up to no good. He didn’t want to correct him and matched his grin with something that felt equally malicious. The boys at the table shrunk away from them and moved closer to Ralph. While they all loved Jack when it came to food, that’s all they liked him for. Ralph was the one who they truly felt happy around. Roger on the other hand just naturally repelled people with his dark aura. It was hard for him to believe that Roger used to be a nervous introvert who could barely voice his own opinion. He really had changed, or perhaps he had always been this way and had simply escaped his shell of insecurity when Jack had painted his face. He always seemed awfully comfortable around Jack and although it was strange, he was strange, Jack thought Roger was a good guy...at heart.

Jack had lost track of time and watched as the other boys began to put their trays of food away on the rack. Ralph stood up too, looking once in Jack's direction but thinking better of talking to him and walked off without sparing him another glance. Ralph sighed, all traces of hope that Ralph would talk to him today were gone. He knew he had to clean the dishes but today he really didn’t have the energy. He looked at Roger with tired eyes and prayed that he understood, then headed off to bed. Before he left, he took a sharp fork and etched a small tally line in his scarred forearm. He looked around in paranoia but nobody had seen him, not even Roger.

He walked up to his dorm, nobody was there yet, and went to the foot of Ralph's bed. He ran a hand along the dull oak that had once looked like polished mahogany and looked at it for a while. Studying where Ralph slept. Was his bed comfortable? Were his pillows fluffed? Was his blanket warm? Were the sheets clean? Thoughts like that raced through Jack's mind as he remembered how he had destroyed Ralph's shelter and left the boys nowhere to sleep without another thought, leaving them to attack each other in the dark while they were unable to see who was an ally and an enemy, how he had stolen the fire instead of just asking for it leaving them no warmth in the night nor smoke for a signal. After all, it was the fire that saved them, that too just in the nick of time before they had all been burnt to ashes like the boy with the mulberry birthmark. Most of the other boys had forgotten him but not Jack. He remembered the boy, his innocent face, the nighterrors that had followed knowing that not even bones were left to remember the boy by, he had been charred to ashes that had been swept away by the wind before any of the boys could own up and apologise. Jack would have liked to apologise to the boy at least once. He bit his lip.

"Not my fault." He reminded himself. "Ralph's fault for making the bloody fire." He looked down at the bed once more but forced distaste into voice and spat. Who was he to care about how Ralph was when he didn't receive even an ounce of appreciation, two years of avoiding him was punishment enough and Jack had cooked every day, been genial, not been violent, taken care of Ralph when he was sick (even though it was anonymously), he deserved at least some recognition if not forgiveness. Wait. Forgiveness? What for? This wasn't his fault. This wasn't his fault. He reminded himself over and over again till the words echoed in his footsteps.

It wasn't his fault, he thought as he stumbled to his bed and buried himself in his blankets, letting the tears finally seep out when he knew there was no one else. The only sound in the silence of that night was Jack's quiet sniffles as he tried to wipe away the tears. Childish, he thought.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your fault! Your Fault!" They taunted him. Over and over again.

Everyone had heard their story: the boys who went missing and were found on an island somehow still alive. No one believed that they became savages and murdered two of their own, they all brushed it off and thought it was “all fun and games”. They teased the boys and asked about all the “mischief” they got up to without the grown-ups. Only they themselves truly knew what had happened on the island, only they could understand the level of trauma that each of them had suffered. Watching someone get eaten, get hunted, get killed. The splattered blood, the scattered pieces of flesh, the gooey pink brains that spilled out, the squashed eyeballs and Piggy’s cracked and deflated body lying below the boulder.

Jack gagged. He remembered how he felt when he hunted, the adrenaline that coursed through his veins when he brought down the knife and the elated hunger when the blood spurted out of the pigs neck. Now, the sight of blood made him sick. He couldn’t bear to think about it because everytime he did, he saw Piggy’s dead body, Simon’s dead body, Ralph’s petrified face when he had almost become another dead body, the thick smell of sweat intertwined with fear and hunger suspended in the air. They were savages. He was savage. 

His finger tapped faster and his heartbeat accelerated, before he knew it, he was on the floor, gasping for breath. The room was fuzzy, he couldn’t see anything, he felt like he was drowning. His limbs spasmed and disobeyed him. He was shivering all over, he felt something grab his shaking hand and whisper threateningly into his ear but he couldn’t hear a word, everything was muffled, like he was under water. He was a man not a savage, he was English and the English are best at everything so what was happening?

He felt lightheaded and his thoughts blurred together, suddenly he was back on the island standing on the cliff, looking down at the boulder that had crushed Piggy, Simon’s bloody body covered in claw marks was in his arms, his fingers in Jack’s mouth, and Ralph’s horrified face as he looked at Jack with sheer betrayal. His features contorted and he looked different, angry but on the verge of tears. Ralph lifted a finger and pointed directly between Jack’s eyes, his mouth moved to form the words “Your fault.” In the background he could hear a faint “Zup!”.

He looked up and he was surrounded by the choir boys, no, the hunters, chanting in unison. SamnEric and Wilfred and Ralph and Piggy and Simon and the boy with the mulberry birthmark all stood around him. Blood streaked their bodies in odd places and Piggy was missing limbs and his insides were pouring out, Ralph had spear scars that wouldn’t stop bleeding, the boy with the birthmark had burnt skin and charred eye sockets, SamnEric looked equally terrifying. Then Roger broke the circle, holding a stick sharpened at two edges, Jack was filled with dread but he could feel the excitement that buzzed through the other savages.

Roger wore a twisted grin on his face that reached the ends of his ears as he signalled the boys to close in on Jack. He tried to move but found he was paralysed by fear and wounds from spears that fell out. The others pounced on him like animals, they tore at his flesh and they beat and beat and beat. There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and claws. Jack tried to scream out in pain but no words came out. There was blood everywhere, he felt nauseous.  
  
Roger pulled the boys back and came for Jack personally. He started slowly by prodding Jack with a stick, leaving gaping holes in his chest and sides, then he took Piggy’s broken glasses and set his feet alight. He took stones and threw them at Jack. He walked away and let the boys continue. Moments later the ground shook violently and rumbled beneath Jack’s charred feet and the boys made a pathway but the boulder was nowhere to be seen, yet Jack panicked and felt death reaching out to him. He understood now. He was experiencing all the pain he had inflicted.

The chant that was growing louder and louder and faster and faster till it hurt Jack’s ears and he was choking on his own heartbeat. Roger came closer and closer, taking small steps but by the time he had reached Jack, it wasn’t Roger’s face he saw anymore, it was Simon, then Piggy, then Ralph. Each of them saying the same thing, “Your fault! Your fault!” Finally the face morphed again and became Jack’s own. He looked at himself and saw the savage hungry fire that was lit in his eyes. Was this what he looked like? Before he could study the face properly, it became the head of the pig he had left for the beast. Eye Sockets crawling with ants and flies swarming it’s rotten flesh. The pig pulled her armed hand back and the chant rose.

“Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Bash him in!”

“Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Bash him in!”

Jack cried and screamed and kicked but to no avail, the chant continued and the boys danced around while the pig headed human came towards him.

“KILL THE PIG! CUT HIS THROAT! BASH HIM IN!”

“KILL THE PIG! CUT HIS THROAT! BASH HIM IN!”

The knife was lowered slowly as if to build up the tension and make Jack experience maximum suffering.

“KILLTHEPIG!CUTHISTHROATBASHHIMIN!”

“KILLTHEPIG!CUTHISTHROATBASHHIMIN!”

The knife came down and with one swift blow, Jack’s head was sliced clean off.

* * *

  
Jack woke with a jolt, beads of sweat gathering at his brow, his clothes stuck to him, his red hair was plastered to his forehead and his breathing was shallow. His finger was tapping furiously on his knee. He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but his blankets were tangled around his feet. He saw a dark stain on his pillow and then felt his face, it was still wet. He could feel his cheeks going red. What if someone had seen him cry? What if Ralph had seen him cry? Frustration bubbled inside him. He couldn’t let this go on, the night terrors were getting worse. He got up to get some water, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, the door creaked louder than that. He tried not to make another sound but his legs felt heavy with lack of sleep, his body still had phantom shivers and the everything was still blurry and dark making him stumble.

He grabbed a candle from the ledge outside the room out of reach from the little boys and hoped that the wax wouldn't melt onto his fingers. He walked through the hallway, the paintings stared at him. It felt like they were telling him something through their creepy smiles. He could hear whispers in his head, different to actual sounds like the thunder that clapped outside, and his candle flickered. Why was he roaming the halls at this hour? He hurried back to the dormitory but it felt as if the hallway kept on extending. He could see the brown oak door with faded red paint splatters and scattered chips etched on the door like a tally from when they had pretended to be in a war but used red paintballs as bullets so they could know who had been hit. ‘Paintballing’ they had called it. The house master had not been happy about their little ‘war’ and had made everyone clean for hours. It was a happy memory but given Jack's nightmare, it only reminded him of the last day on the island, the fire blazed behind his eyelids. His heartbeat got faster and he could feel the hand with the candle trembling, threatening to drop it and ignite the whole corridor.

Sweat rolled down Jack's face and he tried to place the candle back on the ledge, he imagined hs hand slipping and the candle falling off, the entire hallway would be ablaze in a matter of seconds, the boys would be trapped in their room, Ralph would be in danger, screams of terror would echo throughout the house and no one would be there to help. He imagined somehow stumbling out of the house with torn clothes and pink burnt arms, choking on soot and his own blood, then tripping over someone's dead body, a burnt body where none of the features were recognisable. He saw it now in great gory detail, the image filling his mind. The boy with the mulberry birthmark, Simon, Piggy, Ralph, SamnEric then finally Jack, all of their faces morphing onto the dead body and shouting over the crackle of the flames

"Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!"

Then all of the little boys coming out of the house, dragging some of their dead companions behind them, and looking at Jack uttering the smae words over and over.

"Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!"

They would never eat his cooking again, they would all avoid him like they did Roger, perhaps they would throw him out onto the streets and leave him to fend for himself. He couldn't imagine any of the chefs looking at him the same again either, he would be banned from every kitchen with an invisible 'Fire hazard' sign stapled to his chest. He would have to hunt again but this time without his knife and he would have to eat rats and dogs and pigeons just to survive. He couldn't even build himself a shelter unless he found some cardboad and he would have to live in the bins.

Finally he imagined Ralph stepping out of the house, his face charred and his blode hair alight, making it look a bright ornangish-red that was close to Jack's own, but his eyes still conveying the message as he shook his head in disgust and muttered.

"I knew you were dangerous Jack Merridew. I tried to stay away from you. Why didn't you listen. This is all _your fault!_ "

\--

Jack felt the heat of something on his left hand and shook himself out of the daydream. He had gripped the candle so tight, the base had been crushed and begun to melt, leavingpatches of white on his palm. He placed the candle safely onto the ledge and reminded himself that he had an overactive imagination even now and that he was exaggerating. Regardless of his constant coaxing, his finger tapped and the whispers continued, making his ears ring.

 _"Your fault. Your fault!"_ They taunted him. Over and over again.


End file.
